Final Hour
by Counter Spark
Summary: "Can you promise me something?" she asked. And because his heart was beating so fast and his head was swimming a bit from the firewhiskey, he said, "Anything." DHr, post HBP (not DH compliant).
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Final Hour**

 **Summary:** Getting captured in the middle of a war turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to Draco Malfoy. DHr, non-DH compliant.

 **Disclaimer:** Yep yep yep JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, dunno if you knew that but now you do!

* * *

Draco was surprised by how easily it happened, falling in love with her. Not too long before it happened, if someone would've told him he'd be looking at Granger and thinking about her in a way that made his heart beat fast—in a way that actually made his forehead break out in a sweat—he would've ordered Crabbe and Goyle to punish them for having such a sick sense of humor.

But when he realized what was happening—or rather, what had already happened—he accepted it without resistance. Alrighty then. So he was in love with Granger. Wasn't that interesting?

It happened at the Weasley wedding, the one with the veela girl and the ugliest Weasley brother. Of course he would've never chosen to go there—circumstances made it unavoidable. If events had occurred normally, he would've been at the Manor licking Voldemort's boots or something like that. But he had to go and get himself captured. He had to spend the last month living in that revolting shack under the same roof as the Weasleys and Potter and _her_. It was all so embarrassing.

But back to the wedding. Poor Granger had been making moon eyes at Weasley all night, and the git either hadn't noticed or was too chicken to actually do something about it. It was sort of funny when you thought about it—everyone said Granger was the brightest witch of her age, but wasn't she smart enough to see that she was far too good for the likes of Ron Weasley?

I mean, just look at them, Draco thought, sitting by himself in the corner and nursing a bottle of firewhiskey. Forget Weasley's stupid robes; he was poor, what could you expect? But everything about him was just so infuriating. His stupid hair, the stupid expression on his face. His complete disregard of Granger, who was fawning over him!

And Granger, look at her there in that dress. Light purple, sleeveless. It belonged to Weasley's sister, the one who looked halfway decent for a Weasley and therefore spent most of her time flirting. The dress was risque for Granger—she'd seriously considered not wearing it. The "cut was too low", the dress was "too tight". While Malfoy never much cared for the Weasley girl, he felt he owed her a great debt now, staring at Granger.

Who would've known that's what the shape of her body looked like beneath her school robes? Of course this wasn't the first time he'd noticed that—live with a girl for a month and you notice these sort of things. She'd started out the night with her hair tied back into some fancy updo Weasley's sister had arranged for her. Now, a few hours into the reception, that had all gone to hell. She was good old bushy haired Granger again, perpetually looking like she'd just touched a live wire.

And she was drunk! That was the best thing. He'd watched her all night, sipping slowly but getting the job done. While he was watching from the other side of the tent, she reached and touched Weasley's arm. Draco couldn't hear her from where he sat, but he noticed the way she nodded towards the dance floor. The lovely way she blushed and smiled.

And Weasley, the great idiot he was, shrugged her off and kept talking to Potter about quidditch or Dumbledore or whatever the hell those two gits liked to talk about. And before he entirely knew what he was doing, Malfoy was walking up to their table. He cleared his throat loudly and offered Granger his hand.

"You want to dance?" he asked.

She just gaped at him.

"Look, I haven't got all day. I'm drunk, you're drunk. You wanna dance. Let's do it."

She looked over at Weasley.

"Ah, screw him. Come on, Granger."

She looked up at him, questioning. "What are you playing at?" Then she snorted. "Is this some sort of prank? Are you going to lead me over there and have me stand under a bucket of pig's blood or something like that?"

"Not a bad idea. But no. Just dancing."

The band transitioned to a ballad. The couples on the dance floor held onto one another and started their swaying.

"It's a slow song," she frowned.

"Beggars can't be choosers, Granger. Last chance." He had a bright idea. "Do you want to listen to Weasley's sister brag about how many men she danced with when you didn't dance with any?"

"Hey!" Potter butted in, his stupid glasses all askew. He'd been drinking too. "Ginny only danced with me!"

"Oh, really? Is that you then?" Draco pointed at the dance floor. "Weird. You look a lot like Dean Thomas to me."

"Dean Thom…" All the blood drained from Potter's face.

But Draco wasn't concerned with him. "I'm not asking again, Granger."

Weasley apparently needed attention. "Is this prat bothering you, Hermione?"

And then, gods be blessed, she actually _ignored_ Weasley, said, "Fine, why not," and took Draco's hand. He hadn't planned for things to get this far—he had to improvise. He led her out to the dance floor, turned to look at her, and sort of just stared at her for a second.

"Well!" she said.

Hand on waist, hand in hand. They stood there, awkwardly posing, not sure what to do next.

"Oh, Merlin." Granger closed her eyes.

"What?"

"I feel dizzy. I drank too much."

"What do you expect when you've been hanging around Potter and Weasley all night? Come on, then."

She sort of fell into him, and then they were embracing each other, mimicking the other couples on the dance floor. His heart started hammering when she rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled like flowers. Lavender, the color of her dress.

He was terrified she could feel his heart galloping around inside of him.

Granger sighed. "I don't know why I bother."

"I hope you're not talking about Weasley. Because if you are, I don't know why you bother either."

She laughed. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"Like I said, I'm drunk."

 _Plus you're funny and smart and brilliant and Merlin help me how did this happen?_

Her body relaxed against his. "You're not so bad, Malfoy. I mean, don't get me wrong—you're still you, but…you know what I'm saying."

"Wow, what a compliment."

"No, really!" She nestled her cheek against his chest like she was searching for the most comfortable spot in a pillow. "Can you promise me something?" she asked.

And because his heart was beating so fast and his head was swimming from the firewhiskey, he said, "Anything."

"Be yourself around me. Like this. This is you, isn't it? Not that mean, bigoted prat I went to school with?"

"Sure." He closed his eyes, held her more closely to him. "Yeah, I can do that."

He wanted to kiss her, but how could that happen with Potter and all the Weasley demons crammed under this tent? So he settled for the next best thing. He slid one arm around her waist, pulled her even closer, as close as she could get.

"Malfoy!" she giggled, then looked at him with her large, dark eyes.

"Let's piss off Weasley. Kiss me."

"Oh, stop it," she laughed, and then the song was over. She hugged him and pulled away. "Wait a second. Are we friends now?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Sure. Just don't tell anyone."

"Okay." She nodded, wild hair bouncing up and down. "I can agree to that."

"Hermiiiiiione!"

It was Weasley's sister swooping in, clutching onto Granger's arm.

"Um, can we talk?"

She steered Granger away, looking over her shoulder at him with her stupid freckly face. Why did every single member of the Weasley clan have to be such infuriating pains in the ass?

But anyway, that's how it happened, Draco Malfoy falling in love with Hermione Granger. It'd actually been taking place for awhile before that, but that's when he realized it, and after that things started happening fairly quickly. The War seemed to put everything on an accelerated schedule—not only love but death as well.

The wedding of Bill and Fleur was only a brief distraction. But it was a welcome distraction. And for Malfoy, it was the night he officially accepted the truth—that, yes, Hermione Granger was an insufferable know-it-all, and yes, her hair was utterly ridiculous—yes, she prattled on about spellwork and histories of magic like other people actually cared, like she deserved a medal or something for reading and designating useless information to memory—but he was in love with her and there was nothing he could do about it.

Dammit.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's chapter two, folks! Review or follow if you like this story, I can update fairly quickly if people are liking it. Thanks!

* * *

"But what if someone sees us, Lucius?"

He placed his hand on top of his wife's. "They won't."

Narcissa looked into her husband's eyes. They had a strange morphing quality—when looking at anyone else, they always seemed cold and gray. It was even a thing people referred to; at the Ministry, if someone gave you a dirty look you would say they gave you the "Lucius Malfoy stare". Even when Lucius looked at Draco, there was a coldness there, the sort of coldness that might make a boy strive to impress his father. But when he looked at her, those eyes changed. They became warm, and soft, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her husband loved her, that he would gladly throw himself in front of a Killing Curse if it meant saving her. And while that all sounded very grand and melodramatic, it was relevant thing to kno win the middle of a war.

"So tomorrow. You'll…?"

"Yes. Before things get too…violent. He'll be safer with them."

"What if the Dark Lord finds out?"

Lucius looked into his wife's eyes and lied. "Trust me. He won't."

* * *

So the Order was making their stand at the Ministry. Rufus Scrimgeour orchestrated it all. "If the Dark Lord wants to replace me and take over the Ministry, then let him try," he said. "We will be waiting."

Draco stood in the fireplace, holding his stomach. He was fairly certain he was about to be sick.

"Draco, love, remember to say it clearly." Narcissa gingerly took his hand and dropped a fistful of Floo powder in it.

"I don't understand." He belched and turned a shade of purple. "How does he know…?"

"You won't just close your eyes and say 'Tahiti'? Because The Dark Lord will find you, dear. And you don't want that." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. "At least this way, you have a chance of…well, not dying."

"A chance." He laughed bitterly. "Well isn't that nice. What about you, Mother? And Father?"

"We'll be fine."

"Well…I'll be fine, too! I'm just as skilled at magic, you know." He glared in the distance. "I had the highest marks in most of my classes."

 _Yes, all the classes you didn't have with the Mudblood, which, let's be honest, wasn't most of them!_

"Why won't you let me Apparate? I won't splinch myself! You know I've been practicing since I was seven."

"This is just safer, sweetie. Besides, the Dark Lord doesn't want us all coming in the same way. He wants to ambush them."

"Oh." And suddenly Draco felt sick again. He hadn't seen any of his classmates since that night on the Astronomy Tower. Even though he hadn't been the one to kill the old fool, he still shuddered at the memory. He still felt deep shame over the way he froze up, the way his body wouldn't let him do it.

What Draco feared most was that it would happen again. Say he cornered Weasley—could he really hurt him seriously? He was an idiot, of course, who deserved to be hexed, but the Dark Lord wouldn't be happy with hexes. As much as he couldn't stand Weasley, could Draco really torture him? Could he even use the curse Potter had used on him—Sectumsempra—and watch the blood spray out from his chest?

He looked down at his shoes and shook his head, closing his eyes tightly.

"What is it, my love?"

"I don't know if I…" He blushed bright red. "I don't know if I can kill anyone."

She cupped his cheek.

"Merlin. I'm a coward!"

She smiled at him. "No, my dear. That makes you braver than the rest of us." Her eyes darted to the clock. "You must go now, love. Your father and I will see you there."

"Okay."

"I love you."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned an even brighter shade of red. "I love you too, Mum."

And with that he dropped the fistful of Floo Powder and disappeared in a emerald flash of fire.

* * *

Lucius spotted his son by the fountain, shooting a jelly-legs jinx at old Remus Lupin. That's all he'd been doing—harmless little curses that would only slow a person down. So far he'd dodged off all the attacks launched at him. Lucius even saw Potter shoot a curse at his son, but it had been weak, too—a simple Expelliarmus.

These children, they didn't know what they were dealing with.

Jets of light flew in all directions. Lucius felt a knife slash across his back and whirled around to find Kingley Shacklebolt standing there with his wand brandished.

"Ah! Dark magic, Shacklebolt?" Bright drops of pure blood fell to the floor. "Tsk tsk, what would your precious friends say?"

"They'd give me a high-five for making you bleed, Lucius."

They sparred back and forth, deflecting curses. Lucius looked over his shoulder and couldn't find Draco by the fountain anymore.

"Stop distracting me!" he shouted at Shacklebolt and sent him flying through the air. Kingsley hit a brick wall and fell the floor, a waterfall of dust and rubble raining down upon him.

"Lucius!" Narcissa shrieked.

He found his wife nearby and followed her gaze. Draco was squaring off against Mad-Eye Moody. They were circling each other like two boxers in the ring.

 _Stupefy!_ Lucius thought, pointing his wand at his son. Draco flew backwards through the air and hit the statue of the wizard in the fountain with a loud and hollow clang. His son dropped into the water with a splash.

"CRUCIO!"

He whirled around. Bellatrix was standing over the writhing body of Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic. He roared in pain.

"Would you like some more, Mr. Minister? CRUCIO!"

Bellatrix was beside herself now, cackling like a maniac.

"Oh, this is so much fun! But I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short." She pointed her wand between the old man's eyes.

"NO!" Potter said, starting to run towards the pair of them. Lucius knew the silly boy wouldn't make it. He wasn't nearly close enough.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

And the Minister of Magic was dead.

"LOOK!" Bella shrieked. "Look at your Minister! Oh my, children! He's _deaaaaaaad_!"

All the fighting stopped for a moment. Potter fell down to his knees.

"It looks like our work here is done!" Lucius's sister-in-law turned to face the rest of them, the other Death Eaters waiting for her command. She raised her arms in the air and grinned. "Now!"

Narcissa got one last look at her boy, unconscious and floating face-up in the water.

And all the Death Eaters—save one—disappeared in a whirl of black robes.

* * *

Hermione dragged his limp body out of the fountain and rolled him onto the ground.

"Oh, great," she muttered.

Ron crouched next to her. "Merlin," he breathed. "It's Malfoy!"

"Yeah. And he's not breathing."

"That's a problem?"

"Well…we can't let him die, right?"

"Who said we can't?"

"Ronald! I'm being serious!" She placed her fingers on Draco's cold, slick neck. "He's still alive, but…oh, I don't want to give him CPR!"

"Well nobody else knows how to do it, Hermione. And even if I did, I'm not putting my mouth on Malfoy's mouth."

They stared at each other, the seconds ticking by, before Hermione said, "Alright!" and leaned over Draco's motionless body.

When she was a very small girl, she'd almost drowned once in the neighborhood pool. She'd only been six years old, a tiny thing with a rat's nest of hair. She'd heard tales from her parents about how the lifeguard dove in and saved her—how it was quite a heroic thing. And, being the studious person she was, Hermione spent the rest of the summer avoiding water and researching CPR, just incase that bit of information might ever come handy again.

But she'd never done it on a real person. Hands shaking a bit, she formed her hands into one big fist and found the spot between his ribs. Pump pump pump. Then she leaned over and did the unthinkable—held his nose and breathed fresh air into his mouth.

Nothing. "Oh, come on," she groaned before repeating the process once more. Pump pump pump, digging down into the space between his ribs. This time when she leaned forward to breathe, when her lips were on his, he jerked his head up and coughed up a couple lungfuls of water into her face.

"Oh, sick!" Ron shouted sympathetically.

Draco fell back, gasping up at the ceiling. For a few moments, he had no idea where he was—what had happened. Then a face entered his field of vision. Granger's.

"Oh no," he moaned. "Not you."

She wiped the mix of spit and water from her face and scowled. "Well I'm not exactly thrilled to see you either, Malfoy."

* * *

They tied him up like a dog and kept him in the main room of the Weasley house. That first night was a nightmare. Everyone felt like it was their civic duty to walk through there at least once and say something derogatory to him. "Coward", "sniveling rat", and "evil prick" were a few standouts.

When Granger came in with a glass of water, she didn't say anything. She brought the glass up to his lips without a word.

"Wait a second," Draco said, putting the water off for a second even though he was incredibly thirsty. "Don't you have something to say, Granger?"

She sighed. "Not really. Unlike everyone else here, I know you're not worth it."

"Oh." He sneered at her. "Well isn't that just sweet. Merlin, what a bucket of daisies _you_ are…"

"Look, do you want any water or not?"

Draco glared at her until she brought the glass up to his lips again. Despite his desire to remain dignified, he drank it all quickly and greedily, adam's apple bobbing up and down.

She was walking away when he spoke up, still panting from how quickly he drank the water.

"Hey! You know, this isn't very Gryffindor like! Tying somebody up like this!"

She turned around on her heel and regarded him with an icy stare. "Anything else?"

"Yeah! Uh…" He frowned. "You know…ugh, nevermind."

But for whatever reason, she kept standing there. Put one hand on her hip. "No, Malfoy, tell me. What do you want to say?"

"I just—well. I never killed anybody, okay? I never could, despite how much that might've benefited me. So, yeah, you've got me tied up here and I bet that makes you feel pretty good, but even if you let me loose, nothing would happen." He laughed bitterly. "I mean, did you see me at the Ministry? I hit you with a Bat Bogey hex. A _Bat Bogey_ hex. What the hell was that?"

Granger laughed under her breath.

"That says a lot, doesn't it? That I hate you as much as I do but I can only do a Bat Bogey hex? Good Lord!" He looked down at his lap, marveling at this new revelation. "I'm pathetic!"

"I don't think that's pathetic, Malfoy."

He looked up at her.

"I think you don't want to hurt any of us because you know, deep down, that our side is right and your side is wrong." She grinned. "Of course I got higher marks than you in Hogwarts, but I know you're not terrible. I think if you had the proper motivation, like fighting for a cause you actually believed in, you could be good. Well—fairly decent."

He didn't say anything in response, mostly because he had no clue what to say.

"Anyway, I'm going to bed." She turned and kept walking.

"Wait! You're gonna keep me tied up here all night?"

"Yeah." She disappeared through the door. "It's Ron's house, his call!"

"Damn Weasel," Draco seethed through his teeth. "I'll show him…"

 _With what, a Bat Bogey hex?_ a voice in his head asked.

"Oh, shut up."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** : Yay! Having fun with this one. I'm on break from college so I'm gonna keep churning these chapters out. Hope you like it!

* * *

It was awful.

Granger was the only one that treated him with a modicum of respect. Even Weasley's sister would mutter things under her breath whenever Draco entered a room, clutching onto Potter's arm as though letting go might send her hurtling into deep space.

"What was that?" Draco asked, smearing some cream cheese on his bagel. "I thought I heard something, uh…what's your name?"

She glared at him. "It's Ginny."

"Oh, okay. See, I never knew what your name was at school because it just didn't seem like important information. You were always just the runty little Weasley sister. And then after that you were…" He laughed and gestured at her stance next to Harry. "Well, then you were just Harry Potter's tramp girlfriend!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy."

It was their bald, Muggle-loving dad. That was really turning out to be the worst thing about this living situation. There were crammed in this lousy, smelly house like sardines. If it had just been him and the Golden Trio, it would've at least been tolerable. But no, you had to have the mother who was always being too kind just to spite him, and the father who always liked to slander the good name of Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes, sir?" Draco smirked.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call my daughter a tramp in my own house, thank you very much." Arthur looked back down at his eggs, poking at them until the yolk bled over. "Although, with the filthy mouth your father has, I can't say I'm surprised…"

"I'll give you a filthy mouth," he muttered, dropping his head and spreading the last of the cream cheese on his toast.

"What was that?" asked Ginny.

"I said bite me."

Things had gotten a lot better since his first days in the Burrow, tied to the chair. The Weasley's mum was the one who put a stop to that, saying it was 'inhumane' and that 'the poor boy didn't have much choice, now did he?'

"Ooh, I don't need your pity, woman," he said to her as she started uncoiling the rope around him.

"I'd appreciate it if you called me Molly," she said, patting him on his shoulder. Oh, she was just doing it to piss him off. Just looking at her smile sometimes made him want to punch a wall. She thought she was getting one over on him-well, he'd show her!

"You know, Malfoy," one of the twins said. Draco of course didn't give a damn which one it was—it hardly mattered. "If you don't like the way us Weasleys run things around here, you're always welcome to leave."

"Maybe take a stroll around town? Go to the Ministry or something like that?" the other one said.

"Oh, cram it."

And they both laughed, like that was so funny.

Since Weasley's tramp sister was sharing a bed with Potter now (her idiot parents thought she was sharing with Granger), he got to sleep in her old room. What a stupid room that was. She had quidditch posters all over the place of the most godawful teams. The Chudley Cannons? Really? She had a thing for the Weird Sisters, too. That was so typical. What teenage girl didn't have a poster of the Weird Sisters in their room? And she probably thought she was _so_ special. Ugh.

Draco spent most of his time in there, though, because there weren't many other options. Potter, Weasley, and Granger liked to have little huddle meetings throughout the day that he wasn't invited to. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be included, but he hated the superior way they'd lower their voices and glance over their shoulders when he entered a room.

"Oh, carry on, I'm sure what you're saying is _so_ important."

"Actually it is," said Potter. "We're trying to overthrow the Dark Lord."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, good luck with that."

"At least we're trying to do something," said Granger in that bossy tone of hers. "Instead of just lazing about all day being a burden to everybody."

"Please! The only difference between you and me is that my ego isn't the size of…" he paused, looking for the right comparison. "Well…your hair!"

"Oh, so it's an ego thing?" she asked, squinting. "Well then maybe we should consult you." She turned back to her friends. "What d'you think, guys? I don't know anybody with a bigger ego."

"Oh please. He's pathetic," said Ron. "I think Dobby could beat him in a fistfight."

"I think I could beat _you_ in a fistfight, Weasley."

"Really? Care to find out?"

"Oh, stop it," said Granger. "This is so stupid. All he wants is attention and we're giving it to him. The best thing we could do is ignore him."

"But I want to punch him so bad!" moaned Weasley.

"He's not worth it." Potter said. He bowed his head to look at a stack of papers on the coffee table between them all. A few moments of silence passed before he glanced up again. "Can I help you, Malfoy?"

Draco gave them all a pair of middle fingers and marched back up the stairs again. What a shit situation this was turning out to be. He doubted the dungeons at the Manor would be much worse than this. If only he hadn't gotten hit with that stupefy curse at the Ministry! He'd been asking around since he got here trying to figure out who the culprit was, but no one would fess up.

"I wish it'd been me," Weasley had told him. "But sadly it wasn't."

A few hours later, someone was knocking on the door.

"What?" he asked.

Granger stuck her head into the room. "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah. Why would I want you in here?" He was lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. "You'll stink up the whole joint."

"Oh! Well in that case, never mind. Enjoy your solitude!" She was closing the door.

"Hey, hey! I was joking!" He sat up.

Granger reappeared.

"What? What do you want to tell me?"

She bit on her lower lip. "Uh…can I come in?"

"Yeah. Whatever."

She closed the door behind her and scanned the room for a place to sit. "Uh…"

"Sit on the bed, I don't care."

She did, her legs hanging off the edge. Granger looked extremely uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fingers on her lap. She was still biting her bottom lip too, probably tearing it to shreds with her buckteeth, Draco thought (although he also knew she hadn't really had buckteeth for years now).

"What? Spit it out, Granger."

"Okay." She let out a long breath. "I guess I'm asking you for help."

"Hmm." He just nodded.

"I'm asking if there's anything you might know about Voldemort—"

Draco winced.

"—that could be helpful to us."

"Okay." He placed his hand on his chin and squinted as though this all considered very serious thought. "Now let me ask this, and don't jump down my throat. _Why_ should I help you?"

"Are you kidding me?" She snorted. "I don't know, maybe because we didn't kill you and took you in and feed you and Fred even loaned you some clothes and—"

"Wait." He stopped her with a raised index finger. "I didn't wear those clothes. I'm not wearing anything that touched Weasley skin."

"I know. We can smell it. You've been wearing that same shirt and pants since you got here."

"Well, I have certain standards you know, and they can't just be, you know…" He started gesturing wildly.

"Okay. Whatever. So are you saying you won't help us?"

"Now I didn't say that. By all means, if I said that, tell me, but I really don't think you can quote me on that."

Granger just stared at him, shaking your head. "Merlin. When did you became such a colossal troll?"

Draco sniggered. "I'm bored. And it's fun to annoy you."

"Well be serious for a second, okay?" She looked down and drummed her fingers on her knees. "Ron and Harry would kill me if they knew about this. Tell me…" She looked up. "Do you know what a horcrux is?"

Draco met her eyes, and suddenly all the humor was gone. "I'm not supposed to. But I might've overheard things, yes."

"What do you know?"

"Listen…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "If You-Know-Who finds out that I helped you, I'm dead. No, worse than dead. It would be a mercy to be dead compared to the things he would do to me."

"I'm aware of that." Granger cocked her head to the side. For whatever reason, she'd tied her bushy hair into a side ponytail. It fell on her bare shoulder. She was wearing a tee shirt too big for her and some pajama bottoms. Draco thought she looked much cuter than she had any right to. It was confusing and he didn't like that.

"But you want me to take that risk to help you?"

"I want you to take that risk to help your parents."

Draco laughed under his breath. "You're gonna have to explain yourself with that one, Granger."

"Okay." She lowered her gaze. "You keep asking who hit you with that curse at the Ministry. Well, I saw who it was."

His eyes widened. "Who?"

"It was your father."

Draco wanted to laugh, but instead he could only gawk at her. What a strange thing to say! "What?"

"Malfoy, believe me. I saw your father hit you with that curse. I saw your mother point at you, and then he hit you with that curse."

"But why would they do that? Assuming I believe you."

Granger shook her head. "Can't you see? Because now you're here with us. They knew we'd protect you and keep you hidden. Your parents were trying to save you."

Finally, he managed a laugh. It sounded terrible, though. "Um…why wouldn't they just let me fight? I was doing okay! Until that last curse, nobody could touch me! I was hexing people left and right!"

"Yeah. With Bat Bogey hexes."

His face reddened.

"How long do you think you would've been allowed to get away with that? You know, I've heard a few stories about how Voldemort runs things. At a certain point, probably soon after you returned from the Ministry, he would've forced you to kill."

And Draco knew that was true. He'd seen it too many times—Death Eaters who'd shown mercy on the battlefield. The Dark Lord would bring someone in, some captured Hogwarts professor or some Muggle he found wandering around late at night. He made Theodore Knott torture someone until they went mad, just as an initiation exercise ("Now kill him," the Dark Lord said when he'd grown bored). Draco shuddered at the memory.

"Could you have done that, Malfoy? Could you have killed?"

He glowered at her. "I've already told you I can't."

"Alright then. So doesn't it make sense for your father to do that?" She tilted her head to one side, exposing the long line of her neck. Draco was once again mad at her for having skin that looked so nice.

"I guess."

"And I'm fairly sure I'm the only one that saw him to do. But can you imagine what might happen if Voldemort found out?"

"He'd torture them, and then he'd kill them."

They sat in silence for a few moments as Draco thought things over.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Granger shrugged. "I guess you can't know. But I'm not lying. The sooner we can defeat Voldemort, the better chance your parents have of surviving. So." She leaned forward a bit. "What do you know about horcruxes?"

"Well," he shrugged.

Draco thought of his parents. It made sense, everything Granger said. That was one of the most infuriating things about her, actually-why did she always have to be right? It was a well-known fact among the Dark Lord's followers that the Malfoys weren't liked. Every day Draco woke up at the Manor, he wondered if this would be the day the Dark Lord grew bored of them. He'd already taken a fancy to throwing the occasional curse at Lucius, just to see him writhe around a bit. His mother would stand back, horrified, waiting for it to be over.

"Don't think this hurts you more than this hurts me," the Dark Lord would coo. "It's so painful when your children disappoint you, isn't it, Narcissa?"

And she would hug Draco close to her.

"I can't imagine you're very proud of your son or your husband. They're quite embarrassing, aren't they?"

Bellatrix would cackle at that. "I told her she should've married better! You don't just throw away the Black name so easily!"

Draco thought of his parents now. Were they even still alive? Granger was right—what if someone spotted his father throw that curse at him? The Dark Lord would punish him gravely for that. Probably his mother, too.

"Malfoy?" Granger asked quietly.

His head snapped up. "Sorry, I…"

"Yes?"

"I was just about to tell you that I know where a horcrux is."


End file.
